


Damnation and Salvation

by Shadow_Side



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Side/pseuds/Shadow_Side
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar’s time in Level Five is turned upside down by a familiar arrival... and a whole new set of questions. [AU tag for 3x05 - Angels & Monsters]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damnation and Salvation

_"There is absolutely no truth that does not spell salvation to one person and damnation to another."_  
[Carl Jung]

***

Sylar stands on the inside, looking out.

It's late, and Level Five is quiet. Level Five is always quiet now, but it seems as though even the silence itself has been turned down, until he can hear nothing but the beat of his own heart... and the slow, endless thrum at the back of his mind.

He knows something is going on. He's known it ever since he caught the flicker of voices close by, soundwaves almost faded to nothing, low enough that no normal person would hear them.

But he is not normal.

He knows who they are... his mother – his... _real_ mother – and Noah Bennett. Noah Bennett, the man who is now supposed to be his ally. His partner. The man with murder in his eyes so clear and so dark that sometimes Sylar almost feels as though to look into them is to look into a mirror.

But there's a difference. He knows that. He knows why Noah Bennett wants him dead, and part of him is glad of it. Part of him cannot help revelling in the way this has all turned out, even though another part... denies it, through and through.

Redemption is not an easy path. Especially when killing has become something he still thinks he can't live without.

Can he? He doesn't know. He wants to believe it. Wants to, and doesn't.

Sometimes he tells himself it was easier before. Easier before he came here, before he let himself become tied to the Company, before he discovered the truth about himself. His lineage. His _heritage_.

Sometimes he can do nothing but close his eyes and remember all the faces that have gone before. The lonely mechanic, skittish but hopeful. The fugitive with the terrible secret. The recluse, and his crucial phonecall to...

...Yes. Perhaps that's why he's dwelling on it so much tonight. Perhaps it was the flickers of conversation he overheard, as Angela Petrelli and Noah Bennett passed too close to Level Five. Perhaps it was just the sound of that one name that has suddenly woken up every shadow in the back of his mind, making his neurons sing and his very skin tingle.

_Mohinder Suresh_.

Sylar wonders why they're talking about him... but he knows it's serious. Knows it because, whatever it is, Angela is sending Noah alone.

Do they know? Do they know that Sylar..?

...Maybe they do.

For a long time, he stands at the window, looking out into the corridor beyond. He's in a different cell, now – his last one having suffered rather a lot following Peter's little... intrusion.

Sylar wonders where his brother is. Wonders... and wishes, in a way, that he could talk to him. After all... no one else is going to understand.

In more ways than one.

It grows later and later, and soon he begins to think that nothing is going to happen. That perhaps... it's time to let sleep claim him, just for a few hours.

Then he hears doors banging open in the distance, and he's straight back at the window in an instant, counting the sounds as they grow louder, closer, closer...

"How many?" he hears his mother asking, in hurried tones.

"Three, maybe four," comes Noah Bennett's voice, clipped and... unnerved? "It was hard to tell at the time, and I had more pressing concerns to deal with."

"How far did you chase him?"

"Six blocks. And trust me when I tell you, he never touched the floor the entire time."

"Really? So the reports were true?"

"Most definitely. He has abilities now. Nasty ones."

The final door bangs open, and several people come hurrying down the passageway through Level Five: Angela Petrelli, with Noah in tow... and a pair of tall, non-descript men bearing a stretcher between them.

Later on, Sylar isn't sure what it is that he noticed first – the name, the man, or the echo of a heartbeat he has never once forgotten.

"Mohinder Suresh never struck me as the type."

"Well, something's changed," Noah says. They pass Sylar's cell as he says this, and the look he gets from his so-called partner is... cold, as ever. But different, tonight.

He only notices it for a second, though. After that... all Sylar sees is the man on the stretcher.

"...Mohinder," he whispers, very softly.

At the back of his head, the constant thrumming deepens.

Sylar only gets a moment to look, but what he sees makes him wonder just what has been going on. Mohinder is clearly unconscious, bloodied and battered, and Sylar wonders if Noah is responsible for that.

Oddly, he doubts it. This will help later. Because, if he was... Sylar might not be able to let that go.

But as it is, there's only one thought on his mind now... are they right? Has Mohinder somehow developed... an ability?

The thrumming deepens all the more. Sylar feels his eyes flicker, though he fights to focus, moving along the window to keep the group in view.

"Mrs Petrelli, we need to get him stabilised," one of the unknown men says.

"Yes. Quite," she replies, her own tone clipped as well. "If we're to keep him alive, we're going to have to do something about those powers of his."

"You mean..?"

"Yes. Whatever Suresh made, it didn't work. But it can't be reversed. All we can do now is finish what he started and hope he hasn't caused irreparable damage to himself."

"You definitely want him alive?" Noah asks, and Sylar feels his own heartbeat quicken. He presses his hands against the glass... hungry again.

"Absolutely."

"Why? Why take the risk?"

Angela is suddenly silent, and she glances down the corridor in Sylar's direction, obviously aware that he's watching. Her gaze lingers... and then her attention is back on Noah as if the moment never happened.

"I have my reasons."

"Which are?"

"...Not here. Outside, if we must."

And in a moment, they're gone. Gone too far for Sylar to hear.

The two men take Mohinder into one of the cells further down the corridor. After a couple of moments, they leave, and all is silent.

Almost silent.

Sylar slowly falls asleep with that familiar heartbeat pounding in his head.

***

Hours pass, layered on top of each other, hour after hour after hour until Sylar begins to wonder what is going on. And the more he wonders... the more the need to know becomes overwhelming.

He paces. He's not agitated. But he's not far off, and he knows it.

_He can't lose focus now._

Thankfully, his mother appears at the window before the thoughts get any worse. She steps into the room with him, her expression... very controlled.

"You know we have Suresh."

"Yes."

"Then you also know... I'm aware of the connection."

"I suspected as much." Hoped, almost. For a number of reasons.

"Good. Then it's time for you to ask your question."

How does she know him so well? It's... unsettling is not the word, but it's close.

"...Is he all right?"

Oh, he must be so readable right now. So open. So... vulnerable. But the alternatives are far worse.

"We think so. He had attempted to develop a serum to induce powers in those with none."

"Is that even possible?"

"Oh yes. Unfortunately, the good doctor was far too hasty. He tested his serum on himself long before he was able to ascertain if it was safe."

Sylar feels his own heartbeat quicken at that, echoing in his head. He hopes his mother can't tell.

"What happened?"

"He developed abilities. But there were... side-effects. Dr Suresh began to transform... into what, exactly, we're not sure. It doesn't matter, now, however. We have treated him."

"With what?"

"With precisely what he might have made had he been less hasty. The Company... developed such a serum many years ago. In order to save Suresh's life, I had him injected with it."

"And?" So many questions. He can't stop asking. _He needs to know._

"He has stabilised, and the... metamorphosis... has been halted. Reversed. He should be back on his feet in a couple of days. But his new abilities will remain."

_He's one of us now. Like the others. Like the mechanic, the fugitive, the recluse. Just like all of them._

...no. No. He has to be different. He has to.

"I want to see him."

His mother smiles. "I know. But I want you to tell me why."

Sylar wonders what answer she expects him to give. Maybe she thinks he's going to declare some simple feeling. Maybe she thinks he wants revenge. Maybe... she thinks he just wants to take a good, long look at those new, untapped powers...

She's wrong.

"Because I have waited patiently in this room for the best part of a day listening to his heartbeat _echo_ in my head."

Angela looks... almost taken aback. "You can hear it?"

"I can hear it."

"Interesting."

She doesn't comment on the rest of it, though. That alone is telling. After a moment of thought, she nods.

"All right. You can see him. I trust you will... restrain any urges?"

"...What do you mean by that?" He tries to look... as innocent as he can. Which he knows isn't very.

"We want him alive." Ah. Those urges. He's been so caught up in this that he's been concentrating far more on... the other kind.

"I have no intention of killing him. You of all people should know how... focused I am on giving that up."

Not entirely, if truth be told. But it's harder to focus on right now. And he really is trying.

Really. Noah Bennett is still alive, after all.

Angela appears to consider this for a moment, and then she nods. "Very well. Come with me."

And he does. He follows his mother out into the corridor – they walk alone, but at the far end of the passage, he can see that they're not. That she's got people watching.

He supposes that's understandable. Especially given the circumstances.

Mother and son walk past several dark, empty cells, until they reach one that is lit up.

Sylar stands on the outside, looking in.

"I'll give you some time," is all Angela says now. She opens the door to let him inside, and he moves forward without a flicker of hesitation, hearing the lock re-engage behind him.

But that doesn't matter now. He's where he wants to be. Where he _needs_ to be.

In the centre of the room is a bed, and on the bed, still hooked up to an IV, is Mohinder Suresh. He looks better than he did the previous evening; no longer covered in blood, and... different, too. He's dressed in medical white, eyes closed, breathing softly.

Sleeping.

Sylar walks closer, caught by the sight of him. Caught by... all the memories... some good, and some... less so. He doesn't know what to expect when Mohinder wakes up – what to hope for, what to prepare for. He just knows... he has to find out.

He stands at Mohinder's side, staring down at him. Puts out a hand and... touches his, almost as if he might turn out not to be real.

At the contact, slight though it is, Mohinder's eyes snap open. He stares up, realises who is staring _back_ , and immediately tries to sit upright. Sylar simply lays a hand on his chest to stop him, sensing – at last – that ever-quickening heartbeat beneath his palm.

"Take it easy. I'd... imagine you're still feeling a little strange."

Mohinder gapes at him. Apparently, those aren't the words he expected to hear. Or anything close.

"Sylar..?!" he gasps, trying to move again. "What are you..?"

"Shhh. I told you to take it easy. But then, you never did listen to me." It's... just an observation. Well. An observation designed to provoke, ever-so-slightly. He can't help it. More than that... he _wants_ it.

"I wonder why that was."

Sylar can't help smiling at this. "Ooh, you've still got fire. I'm glad. I'd be sorry if those new powers of yours had made you docile. Quite the opposite, if what I'm hearing is true."

He's well aware he doesn't know a great deal. But... perhaps it's enough, for now.

"I feel... different. Like... I don't know, I... I feel like I've been sleepwalking." There's confusion in the other man's tone, along with everything else. Perhaps, Sylar muses, that's why he hasn't reacted properly yet.

"They told me you gave yourself powers."

"Can you blame me?"

"You of all people should know the answer to that. But it didn't work properly, did it?"

Mohinder _glowers_ at him, and doesn't reply at first. "There were... side-effects," he admits, finally. Angrily, almost. But it's complex anger.

Sylar still has his hand on Mohinder's chest, and it's... reassuring, almost, to be able to feel the heartbeat he's been hearing for so long. Mohinder, for his part, stops trying to sit upright and merely stares – glares? – up at him.

"Define ‘side-effects.'"

The glower gets worse, and Mohinder makes another attempt to get up – and, once more, Sylar doesn't let him.

"It's _complicated_ ," the other man says, flatly.

"Explain it to me." Maybe he can unnerve him with calmness.

After a moment, Mohinder sighs and gives in. Just a little. "I... changed. Transformed. Partially. It... was beyond my control."

"How pleasingly appropriate," Sylar remarks, rather dryly. "Perhaps now you understand me a little better."

Mohinder glares some more – it's definitely a glare now – and his tone is flooded with sudden bitterness as he speaks; bitterness as complex as the anger. "Understand? I understand that I've killed people. That the Company is probably only keeping me alive to further their own ends. That... Just what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Me? Oh, I work for them now." So idle. So easy. He smiles. "One of us, one of them."

Amazing how that seems to make Mohinder look more worried than everything else put together. 

"I... see. Did they send you in here to kill me?"

Sylar's smile does not fade. "If they wanted you dead, they would not have stabilised your condition. You're like me now, Mohinder. Special."

"I am _not_ like you," Mohinder throws back, low and... desperate?

_Not like you._ Why does everyone keep insisting that? Why is he the only one who is actually honest about all this?

"Oh, Mohinder, but you are," he replies, quietly. "You took powers because you wanted them. And you killed because you _needed_ to."

He doesn't know anything about who Mohinder has killed, or why. But what he does know... is that there was a reason. Maybe not a reason Mohinder will admit, but a reason nonetheless. A purpose. A _need_. He can feel it. He could feel it even before Mohinder admitted to having done it.

"Whatever you made, the Company made it better. They've stopped what was happening to you. They've _fixed_ you."

"And what exactly is your role in all this?"

"Me? I'm just a friendly face, here to speed your recovery." He smiles again, and he can see the way Mohinder shivers a little at the words. That, after all, is precisely what he wanted when he said them.

And it makes the next step so much more effective. That smile unfading, he moves all of a sudden, climbing up onto the bed on top of Mohinder, pinning him down. For a second... he's caught by the sense-memory. By the warmth of the man beneath him. Then Mohinder grips his arms and tries to push him off, but the good doctor is still partially sedated – no doubt to keep his abilities under control until they're sure he's... fixed – and as such, he can't resist enough. Or doesn't, certainly.

"Don't," Mohinder whispers. He looks... really rather worried, now, and Sylar can't help enjoying that. But then... he always has. And he suspects, on some suppressed but very fundamental level, that Mohinder does as well.

"Why not? Who's going to stop me? You?" He laughs, ever so softly, delighted by the way it makes Mohinder's eyes flicker. "They've got you pumped full of so many drugs that I doubt you could get off this bed under your own power, even if I wasn't keeping you down."

"What do you want from me?"

"Oh, I don't want anything from you, Mohinder," Sylar answers. "Not your powers, not your blood, not... anything. It is you who wants something from me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mohinder retorts, flatly. "I want nothing from you."

"You have _always_ wanted something from me," he whispers. "Ever since the day we met. You have _never_ stopped wanting."

_You're not the only one_. But he doesn't say this part out loud. Not yet. It isn't time.

"It was different in the beginning," the other man insists, looking away for a moment. Looking away as if looking... back. "I thought you were someone else."

He sounds suddenly hurt. Interesting.

"You can say it, Mohinder," Sylar urges, soft and... suddenly deadly. "Go ahead. You thought I was someone else when you slept with me."

He says it so calmly. So... reasonably. Though he feels anything but.

"Yes," Mohinder answers, suddenly glaring once more. "Yes I did. I thought you were someone _good_."

If he's trying to provoke a response, it doesn't work. Not anymore. With every day... Sylar is more and more in control of himself. More and more able to act on thought and not instinct.

Though the instinct is still there. It will always be there. Calling to him.

"Then you know how I feel now," Sylar points out, pleased by the circularity. "Because you're no angel yourself, are you?"

The taunt is deliberate; an open challenge. Mohinder doesn't answer.

"How many did you kill? When they brought you in, I heard Noah Bennett say ‘three, maybe four.' Did he mean bodies? Or worse?"

Still no answer. But the look in Mohinder's eyes is... nigh-on murderous.

Sylar thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen – and more so when he hears the way Mohinder's heartbeat shifts at those words. The way it... quickens again. But not in fear. Not this time.

"It will be easier if you accept it," he goes on. "Trust me."

"I want nothing to do with it, or with you," Mohinder insists, anger unfading in his tone and in his eyes. "If they've fixed me... then I can stop."

"Keep telling yourself that, if it helps. But you're wrong. You've got blood on your hands now, Mohinder. On your hands and on your thoughts. And you have _no idea_ how hard it is to make it go away."

"Maybe for someone like you. Someone who _enjoys_ it, _wants_ it. But not me. I'm in control, and that's that."

"Really?" Sylar says, sounding utterly unconvinced. And he leans in close – really close – adding, in a low whisper, "Well, why don't you prove it?"

For a moment, neither of them moves, although Sylar can hear Mohinder's heartbeat quickening and quickening until, very suddenly, Mohinder growls, " _Fine_."

And throws Sylar cleanly off him.

As he hits the wall, feeling a jolt of pain spread through his body, Sylar can't help being impressed. He doesn't show it, though – and he's certainly angry as well – but it's there. The other man really has changed since their first meeting.

And as Sylar picks himself up from the floor, he's faced with something he did not expect: Mohinder climbing to his feet as well, yanking the IV from his arm with a mostly-suppressed wince and staring him down.

"Impressive," Sylar remarks, in a half-generous, half-scathing tone... designed, of course, to provoke the other man some more. "I must say, it's almost... gratifying... to see you slowly remaking yourself in my image."

"This has _nothing_ to do with you!" Mohinder growls, and launches at him at once, fuelled by a rage and a confidence that Sylar never quite expected to see in him.

Sylar fights back. Of course he does. Mohinder has a strength that takes him by surprise, but even lacking the ability to equal it, Sylar knows he has more than enough ways to take the upper hand. The telekinesis is a big help... although nothing really matches the way that constant heartbeat, echoing faster and faster in his head, makes him feel like... all of this has a purpose. A purpose he's so close to, now.

And then, very suddenly, Mohinder manages to get hold of him, and the next thing Sylar knows he's being slammed roughly into the wall, Mohinder right in his face, holding him there.

The heat from his body is _intoxicating_. But Sylar doesn't lose focus. He can't. Not now.

"What do you want with me?" Mohinder demands. "Why are you here? Why are you _still_ here?"

An interesting question, and one which has two answers: the one that's true on the surface, or the one that's true all the way through.

Sylar smiles, and instantly finds the invisible third option... being too far gone for the surface answer, and not quite ready for the deeper one. "Because you need me."

"I need to _kill_ you," Mohinder nigh-on hisses. "No more than that."

And Sylar's eyes light up, so much so that he can see the sudden, unbidden worry in the other man's expression. "And there you have it," he says. "You are like me. You _need_. Need to kill. Need to take. _Need to feel_."

"I don't," Mohinder insists, although his tone falters a little.

"Of course you do. And that's why I'm here. I'm going to teach you how to control it."

Well, mostly. The whole control thing is still a work in progress. But he's trying. He is.

They don't have a Twelve Step Programme for Sociopaths. Good thing, too.

"You? What could a murderer like _you_ possibly teach me?"

" _Everything_ , Mohinder," he whispers in reply, voice so laden with intensity that the weight hits him as well. "Everything you still need to know. I'm the only one who will ever really understand."

"What could you ‘ _understand_ ' about me?"

Sylar headtilts slightly, a fresh smile crossing his face. "Plenty of things. Starting with all the little secrets you told me, that night in the motel, so many months ago. All your hidden hopes and fears. Such _honesty_ towards someone you hardly knew..."

" _Quiet_ ," Mohinder growls, lowly. "That... was different." But he's faltering now. And Sylar knows precisely how to use it.

"No, Mohinder. It wasn't. You needed someone. Someone to talk to. Someone to be with. Someone who would _understand_ all those things in your head that no one else could. You needed _me_. And you still do."

The other man's resolve seems to be fading... and Sylar can feel it. See it in his eyes. Hear it in his heartbeat.

"...Stop," Mohinder says, more a request than a demand, now.

And Sylar... feels his own resolve break as well. "I love it when you say that," he whispers.

Now it's his turn. Now it is he who throws Mohinder across the room – though Sylar needs only his mind. Nothing more. Nothing more to send the other man crashing against the far wall, and dropping to the cold floor with a thud.

"You _need_ me," Sylar says again, as he watches Mohinder try to pick himself up, clearly hurt by the impact. "Just as I need you. You need me to help you better know the dark... and I need you to help me find the light."

"...Find the light?" Mohinder repeats, looking stunned – in more ways than one. "You're trying to reform _now_?"

"I have my reasons."

"...You just threw me into a wall!"

"I was merely returning the favour," he points out, a little darkly. "And let me remind you, _Doctor_ , that there are several ‘favours' I _haven't_ returned yet. You don't get to question my motivations after what you've done. You pointed a gun at my head and pulled the trigger."

He's still... a little affected by that. Even though he'd known it wasn't going to kill him, known he could stop it... it still hurt. The memories of their one night had been too fresh in his mind.

"You had me at gunpoint for hours mere weeks ago!" Mohinder throws back. He's glowering again, and Sylar wonders when the man will attack next. It's genuinely risky... but he can't resist provoking him some more. It is just too perfect.

"I would never have shot you."

"Could have fooled me."

"Well, that was the _idea_."

Maybe he's glowering a little as well, now. Their all-too-mirrored looks pervade the silence for a moment – a long moment – and then Mohinder says, "And just how long do you plan on doing this for?"

"That depends on how long it will be before you really wish you hadn't pulled out that IV." Sylar isn't certain what it was, but he rather suspects Mohinder still needs it.

"Oh, long enough, I assure you," Mohinder insists, but it's empty talk, and they both know it.

"As you wish." Sylar holds his arms wide, grinning again. "Then take your best shot, _villain_."

Mohinder clearly knows he shouldn't rise to that – and clearly can't stop himself – because he launches at Sylar again. In his eyes... is the look of a man whose blood is _burning_.

It's beautiful. It's so beautiful that, even when the first blow lands, Sylar thinks he doesn't care. He reels in pain, feeling it physically, but almost unaware of it on a mental level. Where it _matters_.

And Mohinder… seems pleased by it. Though after a moment, the look in his eyes changes – so tangibly that Sylar can almost taste the shift in mood.

"What are you trying to provoke?" the other man demands.

Sylar stares at him. "You _know_ what I'm trying to provoke."

Mohinder stares right back, his own expression... suddenly filled with confused understanding. "You surely can't think it will work." Statement, not question. He doesn't need to ask.

He doesn't need to ask because he knows the answer. Just as Sylar does.

"It already has, Mohinder. It already has."

And it has. He knows it. He can hear it in every step the other man takes. In every breath. Every heartbeat.

Even Sylar isn't sure which of them moves first. Maybe they do it in unison, so caught up in the moment and in… the _realisation_ … that, in that instant, they act as one mind.

Mohinder is falling. Sylar is redeeming. They meet in the middle.

And suddenly, they have hold of each other – but not to fight this time. Oh no. This time they draw each other in, so quick and so certain that even Sylar is struck by the certainty of it. He has his hands on Mohinder's back just as he feels Mohinder's on his, keeping him there, keeping him from moving away… though he never would. Since the first time, he never has. Not really. Not… psychologically.

But the kiss… is not like last time. The kiss is rough and deep and desperate, as if both of them are worried the other might suddenly resist... though neither does. And midway through, it strikes Sylar that this is the first time Mohinder has kissed him – _him_ – as himself and not as Zane.

It was incredible last time. Now… it is a hundred times better.

It is honest. It is _them_.

After a minute, Mohinder pulls back enough to stare at him. He looks like he's going to speak, going to say something good or bad or both… but he doesn't. He doesn't say a word.

He just smiles. It's an expression he can only have picked up from one person.

And then they're kissing again, and with every touch, every last inch of contact, Sylar lets the moment sear itself into his mind, onto his skin. He feels like he'll burn with it forever… stronger than the power, stronger than the killing.

It is hunger like nothing he has ever known… damnation and salvation in equal measure.

***

Angela Petrelli allows several hours before going to see what has become of her son. She knows, of course, that such a delay was for the best. Necessary.

Besides. If things had gotten seriously out of hand, it would have been noticed.

When she arrives at the window looking in on the cell in question… she pauses. Even knowing what was nigh-on inevitable after putting those two in the same room, events have clearly unfolded with unanticipated… intensity.

The bed is empty, and most of the medical equipment has been overturned. And on the floor towards the front of the cell, half-draped in one of the white sheets – but otherwise in a state of complete undress – Mohinder Suresh is on his back, with Sylar… with _Gabriel_ … lying across his chest.

They're both asleep. Angela stares at them, headtilting slightly, surprised at how… fast things have progressed.

She smiles. She had her reasons for doing this, of course. She always has reasons.

But part of her… likes to believe she wanted to make her son happy as well.

Perhaps she's made mistakes where he was concerned. Not this time, though.

She's a good mother.

***

Sylar is not asleep. But he continues to look it, even long after he knows his mother is gone again.

He doesn't move. He doesn't have to move.

Everything is quiet. Well. Almost everything. So quiet… even the thrum at the back of his head, the need to kill, the need to take… has faded down for the moment.

It will be back. He knows that. Redemption is a bumpy road.

So much is still to come.

But this moment will never leave him.

No longer looking out. No longer looking in. He is where he needs to be.

And with Mohinder's heartbeat echoing in his otherwise silent mind, Sylar slowly drifts once more to sleep.


End file.
